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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27537367">JÓGA</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/highteen/pseuds/highteen'>highteen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:02:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27537367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/highteen/pseuds/highteen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It'd happened again days later, and again and again, and now Wonwoo's patience was pulled so thin that he'd become utterly transparent.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>JÓGA</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wonwoo stares at him quite seriously while leaning over their apartment units' shared balcony. "What is it that you want, Jun?"</p>
<p>They're well into fall at this point, and it's cold enough that Junhui keeps the windows shut all the time now. Wonwoo, otherwise covered ankle to turtleneck in winter clothes, wiggles his bitten-with-cold toes in his sandals, oddly reminiscent of a package of brightly wrapped fish sausages. Junhui studies them carefully from where he’d crouched down, trying to coax a black stray with white paws closer to him with a convenience store can of tuna.</p>
<p>“All of a sudden?” he replies when he finally remembers Wonwoo asking him a question. The cat’s long gone now and the tuna’s open but untouched. He’ll have to cook it with fried rice for dinner.</p>
<p>“No,” Wonwoo points out. There’s a lit cigarette caught in between his index and middle finger. Last month, he’d tilted his mouth so near to Junhui’s that Junhui couldn’t help but kiss him. It’d happened again days later, and again and again, and now Wonwoo’s patience was pulled so thin that he’d become utterly transparent. “You just always walk away before you can answer.”</p>
<p>Junhui hums while tracing the cold aluminum lip of the can. “It’s hard to think of something when you’re put on the spot.”</p>
<p>“You could say you’ve had a lot of time to think about it, then.” </p>
<p>Wonwoo turns his face away to exhale a cloud of smoke. Junhui averts his gaze before Wonwoo turns back. “Is that what you’re saying?” he laughs toward the innards of the can.</p>
<p>“What do you think,” Wonwoo tells him kindly.</p>
<p>Junhui hugs his knees and stares at the street outside their apartment building through the slats of the railing. “You should stop smoking,” he starts in a fit of honesty, “what if that’s what I want?”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll quit,” Wonwoo says immediately.</p>
<p>Junhui shakes his head. “You say that like it’s easy,” it’s his turn to point out.</p>
<p>Wonwoo presses the cigarette against his lips again. <em> “Junhui,” </em>he warns with it between his teeth. </p>
<p>Truthfully, Junhui thought they’d never become close when he’d first seen Wonwoo’s boxes stacked in the hallway and Wonwoo’s person in a tanktop and basketball shorts walking back out his propped-open door to grab another armful of them with a cigarette in his mouth. Right at the beginning of summer, Wonwoo had been wearing the same sandals he was wearing now and Junhui had stared at him and he’d known the answer to Wonwoo’s question all along, even before he’d formed it on his tongue.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he lies. The want of it all threatens to claw its way out from his throat.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Wonwoo seems to consider. A couple weeks ago, Minghao had come by Junhui’s and said in Chinese, lest Wonwoo could hear them through the walls, <em> He won’t like you forever, you know. </em> He puts out his cigarette. <em> What’ll you do then? </em>“If you say so.” He doesn’t look like his heart’s been broken at all. </p>
<p>The Junhui of then could only laugh. <em> Well, </em> he’d simply said. Now he watches Wonwoo walk back into his apartment without a glance back and the ashes from the cigarette butt scatter like a crime scene across the balcony. <em> I’ll just have to get over it, won’t I? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGDW2OtV5JY">
    <span class="small">björk - jóga</span>
  </a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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